"Feel that?" I whisper, voice breathy but laced with triumph, grinding down slow and deep. "That's me owning this ride."
He growls low, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine, but his hands stay laced behind his head, elbows flared like wings.
"Take it all, Sweetness. Milk me dry."
The words fuel me, heat pooling low as I ride him harder, hips snapping with purpose. Pleasure coils tight in my core, building toward that sweet edge, but I focus on him—on the way his breath hitches, abs contracting, cock throbbing inside me. His knot begins to swell at the base, a subtle pressure that promises to lock us if I let it.
Not yet. I want more from him first.
As his climax crests, I feel it—the hot rush as he spills deep, growling through clenched teeth, body arching beneath me. I lift my hips just in time, sliding off as his knot inflates fully, thick and insistent. Slick coats my thighs, his release mixing with mine in a messy, glorious slide.
Before he can catch his breath, I wrap my hand around the base, fingers encircling the swollen knot as best I can. It's hot, pulsing, and I massage it firmly—kneading with my thumb, stroking along the length in firm pulls. His eyes snap wide, a hiss escaping as his body jerks.
"Fuck—" he rasps, but I don't stop.
Leaning down, I take the knot into my mouth—or as much as fits—sucking gently, tongue swirling over the sensitive swell. The taste is pure him: salty musk laced with that saffron bite, amber sweetness lingering on my palate. I hum around it, vibrations adding to the torment, massaging with one hand while the other traces patterns on his inner thigh.
He shatters again, unexpectedly, a second climax ripping through him like thunder.
His growl turns possessive, raw—a sound that echoes off the wooden beams overhead, shaking the curtains. Hot spurts hit my tongue, and I swallow greedily, milking every tremor until he's spent, body slumping back against the pillows.
When I pull away, licking my lips, he's staring at me like I've rewritten the laws of physics. Breathless, chest heaving, eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief. Snow continues its lazy whirl outside, a stark contrast to the storm we've unleashed in here.
I smirk, wiping my chin with the back of my hand, pride swelling in my chest like a well-earned victory.
That's right. Underestimate the quiet omega at your peril.
"How was the trial?" I ask, voice playful, arched brow daring him to downplay it.
He exhales a shaky laugh, running a hand over his face. "You're a sweet vixen in these streets, aren't you?"
The phrase catches me off guard, and I burst into laughter—genuine, bubbling up from my belly until my sides ache.
"Vixen in the streets? Wish I was out there causing chaos, but honestly? I haven't fucked anything that wasn't battery-operated in months. Thrilled my skills haven't rusted over."
He props himself up on one elbow, core muscles flexing in a display of raw strength that makes my mouth water all over again. The lamplight catches the sheen of sweat on his abs, highlighting every ridge, every scar woven into his ink. Nostrain, no grunt—just fluid power as he sits fully, reaching for me.
His hands cup my cheeks, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with surprising tenderness for such a massive man. Then he kisses me—hard, consuming, tongue delving deep to claim what I've just teased. I moan into his mouth, melting against him, the taste of us mingling on our lips.
He breaks away just enough to whisper against my skin, breath hot on my ear.
"My turn to fuck you like you're my whole damn world."
A grin splits my face, bold and unapologetic.
Challenge accepted, but let's see if you deliver.
"Big words, Alpha. Think you can live up to them?"
The growl that rumbles from his throat is pure instinct, vibrating through me like a bass line. In a blur of motion—faster than any man his size has a right to be—he surges forward, flipping our positions. One second I'm astride him; the next, I'm on my back, pinned beneath his weight, the mattress dipping under us. The sheer curtains billow from the shift, amber light flickering like candle flames.
Anticipation thrums in my veins, a grin stretching my lips as he looms over me, eyes storm-dark with promise. He smothers me with kisses—lips crashing against mine, then trailing to my jaw, my throat—while his hands roam lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of my thong.
"Wait—" I gasp, half-laughing as he tugs. "Don't rip them. They're designer. Cost a fortune to block scents like that."
He pauses, lips hovering over my collarbone, and shoots me a wicked look.
Then, deliberately, he breaks the kiss, trailing his tongue down my body in a slow, scorching path. Over my sternum, between my breasts—pausing to swirl around one nipple, thenthe other—down the plane of my stomach, leaving a trail of fire that has me shivering, arching off the bed.
